


Sparring Practice

by Contra_Indicated



Category: The Strain (TV)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Explosions, Feelings are dumb, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Kissing, M/M, Quinlan is kind of a dick, Sparring practice, Suspense, Swearing, Sweaty men, UST, survivor's guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-03
Updated: 2016-09-06
Packaged: 2018-05-04 16:06:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,526
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5340143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Contra_Indicated/pseuds/Contra_Indicated
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(In which Vaun does not die at Palmer's; just gets injured from the lights.)<br/>Gus and Vaun meet for sparring practice for the first time since Palmer's, and Quinlan interrupts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta'd by the lovely majinkura on tumblr.  
> Obviously, I don't own the characters.
> 
> I'm just really bitter over the way the show got rid of Vaun.  
> This follows the timeline of the TV show rather than the book.  
> I might build on it later if you guys like it. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gus and Vaun meet for sparring practice and Quinlan just has to interrupt.

Gus’s evenings, now a far cry from his days in Harlem carefully navigating the junkies and gangbangers, now consisted of training.  From 4 until 9:30 pm, all he knew now was target practice, hand-to-hand combat, and the life cycles and habits of the strigoi.  He knew the scourge (because really, what word could better describe it?) inside and out from infection to the breakdown and finally to the reformation of tissue, and he swears he will never drink milk again, not after seeing that shit, that  _blood_ , pouring out of those vamps.

The drills, though, they weren’t so bad.  Sure, he hated the ones where Vaun would swing a whip at him in an effort to simulate the fear when faced with a stinger, or shut the lights off with no warning so he couldn’t see, or have one of his men come at Gus from the side, simulating a confrontation in the city with the infected.  But the sparring drills...

He didn’t mind those at all.

Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday were sparring nights.  And tonight just happened to be Saturday.  It was 7 pm, three hours into their training session, and Vaun had him backed into a corner.   _Literally._   The 90 degree angle of the concrete at his back was drawing in his shoulders and limiting his movement, freezing cold against the muscles in his back, and really starting to piss him off.  He threw his weight forward and the concrete may as well have been in front of him for all the ground he gained.  There was a hard shoulder to his chest, knocking the wind out of him.

He threw a completely ineffective right hook and connected with his opponent’s chin, but all it earned him was a sound that Gus couldn’t confidently label a grunt as opposed to a chuckle.  He raised his chin slightly to suck in a breath, and his head was pushed violently upward, his recoil blocked by something deceptively soft but dangerously sharp, as he knew.

‘Don’t hesitate.  You hesitate, you’re food.’  Vaun’s raspy voice was in his ear, and Gus could swear he was about to die from Vaun’s body heat, radiating into his bones.

‘Back off,  _pendejo_. I give, I give,’ Gus choked out and the weapon as his throat retreated.  Vaun backed away, to give him some space, and walked to the wall, throwing Gus a bottle of water and a towel as he racked his sword.  The tank top Vaun was wearing was plastered to his skin with sweat, but he made no move to remove it.

Gus drank deeply, and poured the remaining mouthfuls over his back and shoulders.  He dried his face with the towel and looked at Vaun.  ‘Man, we’re heading over to the neighborhood tonight, aren’t we?  That’s why you’re being such an asshole tonight, right?’ he asked, not bothering with diplomacy in his dealings with this near-immortal warrior.

The question went unanswered, which only served to further infuriate him.  Vaun was staring intently, not blinking, expecting Gus to just  _intuit_ what he is fucking thinking, why he is treating him like a bratty child, like Vaun didn’t just  _burn_  under the lamps in Palmer’s penthouse two weeks ago.  Tonight was their first training session together since then, the first time Gus had even seen him, and Vaun was giving him the fuckin  _bones_  tonight, man.

‘Of course it is.  Nothing weakens a human’s resolve quite as effectively as seeing its own Dear Ones coming for their blood.’

Gus’s head snapped to the left and he glared at the Born standing in the entrance to their ‘training area.’  Despite the order from Vaun that no one was to interrupt the new Sun Hunter’s training sessions, Quinlan merely stood there as if they had called him and had grievously inconvenienced him by doing so.  Gus respected his fighting skills, but he was pretty sure he hated this _puto_.

‘Don’t remember inviting you tonight, Q,’ Gus snapped.

An amused smile slowly spread across Quinlan’s face and he indulgently replied, ‘I can already see it is fortunate that I came.’  _What an asshole._

His movement was smooth and light, yet dangerous; like a jungle cat stalking its prey.  He kept his eyes on Gus as he approached them, and Gus swore he could hear tiny growls escaping Vaun’s throat.  Quinlan ceased his movement, and from his place, he was neither too close nor far enough away; Gus could feel the heat of him and despite it, a shiver ran down his spine under the stare of those ice-blue killer’s eyes.

‘He should have been an asshole the whole time.  Harlem was one of the first areas hit, and the strigoi there will not be the bumbling infants as in Manhattan,’ Quinlan purred.  He sent his eyes down the human’s body and back up, assessing him and Gus clenched his jaw and tilted his head upward toward Quinlan, refusing to back down.  _Man, what an asshole_ , Gus thought again.  Quinlan was silent for long enough that it was about to become uncomfortable.  Still holding Gus’s stare, he said,

‘Protecting your new _pet_ from all of the frightening things in the night is doing him no favors, Vaun.  At least fight with the same frenzy that the young strigoi will.’  Finally he turned his icy stare to Vaun and jabbed, ‘Of course, if you are still too weak, I would be happy to _train_ your new… Sun Hunter.’  Gus could feel his hackles raise at the words and open his mouth to speak but was interrupted.

This time there was no mistaking the growls for what they were.  Gus could practically _see_ the heat boiling off of Vaun, and his stare drilled into the side of Quinlan’s head.  Instead of ignoring Vaun’s reaction, Quinlan smirked and turned to leave with so much self-satisfaction, it was practically dripping off of him.

‘The Ancients gave you your own job to do, Quinlan.’  Vaun said as Quinlan passed him.  The Born came to a stop and faced him.  Gus knew that Quinlan hated being sent to task by the Ancients, and the tension between the two warriors was thick enough to chew.  After an eternity, Quinlan smirked, and once again turned toward the exit.

‘Better call it an early night, Vaun.  I imagine you tire easily in your state,’ Quinlan threw over his shoulder.

Vaun growled again and moved toward Quinlan’s back, but Gus stopped his advance with an arm across his chest. ‘Not tonight.  We got shit to do,’ the Mexican said.

Quinlan gave a low chuckle on his way out the door, and Gus finally released his hold on Vaun.

‘What an asshole.’ Gus thought aloud.

‘He is right,’ Vaun said, and for a moment Gus thought he meant quitting early, and his heart sped up at the thought of Vaun weakening, but then he continued, ‘I have been taking it too easy on you.  I’ve been delaying telling you certain things, and doing so will not make them untrue.’

‘What the fuck, man, don’t let him—‘Gus started, but was cut off.

‘Your mother will be hunting you now.  She won’t be like you last saw her.  She will attack you, and you will have to defend yourself.  You will have to destroy her.’  Vaun was clearly avoiding the topic of his recovery, and it Gus was starting to feel his own blood heating up.

‘Vaun,’ he practically yelled, and was cut off again.

‘The Master will see you through her.  She may speak to you, in her own voice, but make no mistake, it will be the Master’s words, his lies coming out of her.  I should have prepared you for that sooner.’

Gus practically choked on his retort.  He didn’t know that could happen.  He hadn’t heard his _madre’s_ voice in--.  It didn’t matter. 

‘Your training is done for tonight.  Get something to eat; we head out in 2 hours.’  Vaun stalked toward the exit.

‘Nah-uh, no fuckin way, Vaun,’ Gus growled as he caught his arm.  Without warning, Vaun turned on him and threw a right hook.  Gus jerked backwards, but not soon enough.  Vaun’s fist connected with the side of his head and he faltered a step, before recovering in time to block the next blow with his right forearm.

Their sparring continued to build to an almost frantic pace, each of them throwing and blocking and dodging the other’s hits.  Sweat was running down Gus’s back and sides, and pouring down his forehead stinging his eyes, and his muscles were working so quickly he thought he could feel each individual strand of muscle clenching and pulling.  His breath was coming in fast, heavy inhalations, but he kept his head low.  He faked right but snuck in a quick jab with his left that had Vaun stumbling backwards.  Gus saw the opportunity and seized Vaun’s right arm, spinning himself underneath it and bringing it up behind his back in one fluid movement.  With a grunt he shoved forward, and had Vaun pinned to the wall.

‘You’re gonna talk to me!’ Gus demanded.  The only response was quiet clicking from Vaun’s stinger.  Gus took a moment to reset his feet, and Vaun saw his window, his movements so fast, Gus could not even track them.  Gus’s face connected with the cold concrete wall and he felt the Vaun’s weight at his back, and it felt like his shoulder was about to break from the angle he was holding it.  Gus grunted, but did not cry out.  He struggled against Vaun, but it was like pushing against another wall.

‘Be still!’ Vaun growled, and there was no mistaking it for anything but a command.

Immediately, Gus ceased his struggle, Vaun’s tone sending some kind of jolt through his torso and down his legs.  Vaun shifted his body minutely closer, and suddenly Gus was aware of everything.  The coolness of the wall at his front was in sharp contrast to the stifling heat at his back.  He could feel the claws on Vaun’s extended middle fingers digging in to the skin on his back and shoulder where he held Gus’s body immobile.  Vaun’s hot breath ghosted along Gus’s neck and jaw, and Gus realized that he was _smelling_ him.  That knowledge, coupled with the fact he could hear the growls and purrs coming from Vaun right next to his ear, this time Gus felt the little jolt go straight to his cock.  Unconsciously, Gus let his eyes slip closed as he tilted his head, allowing for greater access to his neck.

The noises from Vaun’s stinger increased in both volume and frequency, and the way he slid the tips of his lips up along Gus’s ear had his heart pounding and the blood rushing south.  There was a small sound, a creaking or ( _opening_ ) stretching that took Gus a moment to identify as Vaun’s stinger getting ready to be released.  He could hear his pulse hammering in his own hears and could only imagine how it sounded to Vaun, and he lessened his breathing in anticipation.

_Is he really going to drink me? Why don’t I give a shit?_

Gus felt the stinger brush against his jaw, no more than a tickle, before there was an almost vicious growl in his ear, and the weight at his back was abruptly gone.  The release of pressure on his shoulder was almost more painful than having it pinned and with a gasp he caught himself against the wall, grimacing.

He stood up and took a brief moment to right himself, giving his dick a little mental pep-talk.  Though he could still feel Vaun’s heat at his back, he was still surprised to find him so close when he turned around.  Vaun brought his eyes up to meet his and Gus felt like his fucking _soul_ was melting under that stare.  Both breathing heavily, neither one willing to move a muscle, the air so static he could feel the hair on his arms standing up, the anticipation driving him mad.  He swallowed hard and watched as Vaun followed the movement with his eyes, releasing an absolutely primal sound somewhere between a moan and a whine as he did so.

Vaun’s eyes narrowed and with a movement that could only be described as predatory, he closed the distance between them, crashing their lips together in a mess of sweat, lips, and teeth.  Vaun pressed his body flush against Gus, his hips digging into his pelvis, one impossibly hot thigh shoved between his legs, and his hands braced against the wall on either side of Gus’s head.  Instantly, Gus’s dick filled with blood from the friction, and coupled with the heat, left him lightheaded.

A searing hot tongue invaded his mouth, and he parted his lips further to allow Vaun better access.  He tasted different than the women Gus had kissed.  While their mouths had been warm and sweet, Vaun’s was sweltering, and tasted somehow alkaline.  Gus brought his hands up, one gripping Vaun’s upper arm and the other moving to the back of his neck.

Gus dug his nails into the meat on the back of Vaun’s arm, and the muscle felt like steel.  He could imagine what it would feel like to have that smooth, burning skin pressed against every inch of him.  He broke their kiss to suck in a breath of superheated air, and let a small moan escape.

Vaun went rigid against him, and for an instant nothing happened.  Then he abruptly released Gus, turned around and stalked out of the room, agitation bleeding out of him.  Gus was only able to stand there, shocked and incredibly disappointed in the sudden halt in their activities.  .

‘Vaun-‘ He was breathing heavier than he had ever in his life, he truly believed, and found his voice only a moment too late, as his call of Vaun’s name was muffled by the sound of the door slamming behind him.  His frustration boiled over as he struggled to understand what exactly just happened, why he just walked out, and then now he was _pissed_ , just royally _heated,_ and he snatched up another bottle of water, hurling it at the wall in anger.

The sound it made as it burst against the wall was not nearly as satisfying as Gus had hoped.


	2. After the Raid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunters make it home from the raid, despite things going not quite as planned. All Gus wants is to lick his wounds in private, but of course, Vaun won't let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update has taken so long. School and work and family take up ALL of my time, so finding a weekend to drink and write is difficult. I don't want to get any hopes up, but Chapter 3 is *in progress*

The sun was just breaking on the horizon when they pulled into the underground parking garage beneath what had effectively become known as ‘the Base’ which was actually just an old tenement building that was crumbling around the edges.  Gus was exhausted; he felt every swing of his blade, every recoil from his weapon, throughout his entire body.  His voice was hoarse from shouting and during the one time he dozed off, his lucid dreaming was filled with empty water bottles and dry faucets.  No one would dare call the mission unsuccessful, but there wasn’t a hint of celebration, either.

There’d been losses.  If one were to tally the score, they would see that the good guys won that battle, but it was hard to see it that way.  It’d started out fine; they split into teams, crept to their designated target areas, and waited for the order to move.  The boots of the team leaders broke through their respective doors at what seemed like the same exact moment, but on top of the orders to ‘MOVE MOVE MOVE’ coming through his earpiece, Gus also heard the shrieking and hissing of the corrupted followed by enormous sounds whose shockwaves reverberated through the building and made Gus’s bones ache.

The Master had been waiting.

Overall the final tally was 30 or so dead on the corrupted side, and a loss of 7 hunters plus various injuries for the home team.  Shrapnel, amputations from the explosions, and burns were the most severe of the injuries… Vaun’s second-in-command had his goddamn head ripped off when an explosive detonated three feet from him just inside the door.  Gus had never heard a sound like the one that came from Vaun’s mouth when that happened, and he immediately tried to forget it.

Shaking the memory, Gus limped from the SUV to the elevator, careful of the wound on his chest, hitting the button for his floor and slouching against the wall while he waited for the friendly ding! Of the doors closing and the familiar pressure of changing floors.  He was almost home free when a black-clad hand shot through the narrow opening and pushed against the sliding doors, opening them enough for Vaun to slip through into Gus’s space.

Gus immediately felt the heat radiating off of him.  Vaun stood completely still just inside the elevator, his eyes locked onto Gus’s as the doors slid closed behind him.

_Ding!_

“You’re not one of us.”  The statement fell from Vaun’s lips and impacted directly with Gus’s center.  Gus thought he’d done ok, not great, but ok, _I mean I’m alive right_?  And Vaun’s words made his face heat as he snatched his gaze away from Vaun’s.

Gus took a steadying breath that only hurt a little and opened his mouth to deliver his retort, but before he could get a single syllable out, Vaun cut him off.

“You can’t handle the same things we can and you shouldn’t have put yourself between that seer and Abe.  What if his attention had been elsewhere?  That seer would have ripped your throat out before any of your teammates could--- what is that smell?” Vaun’s lecture quickly died out and concern saturated his tone before he could catch himself.  Gus relished the heat of Vaun’s fingers as they brushed against his stomach in an attempt to snatch the edge of his jacket.

“Back off,” Gus snapped as he pulled away from Vaun’s grasp.  “Everyone got a little tonight, me being no exception.  I can take care of myself.”  The words came out a little more viciously than he’d planned and Gus almost thought he saw Vaun flinch.  Gus scowled and adjusted his jacket, crossing his arms, hoping to convey an air of ‘fuck off, already” despite the groan he had to fight to keep in from putting pressure on his already throbbing wound.

“I might not be as fast or as strong as you, but I can fucking take care of business.  I grew up in Harlem for fuck’s sake and I don’t need you to babysit me.”  Vaun definitely flinched that time.  Gus checked the reflective surface of the elevator walls because he could almost swear there was steam coming out his ears.  The exhausted face staring back at him wasn’t one that Gus recognized.

“I can take care of myself,” he repeated, as he once again locked eyes with Vaun.  A pregnant silence filled the elevator to capacity and Gus silently dared Vaun to look away first.

He didn’t have to wait long.  Another friendly _ding!_ Announced their arrival at the floor of Gus’s ‘apartment.’  Vaun waited, expressionless, as Gus pushed past him and exited the confined space.  Gus stalked down the hallway, not waiting to see if Vaun was following but knowing damn well he would be all up in his personal space if he happened to turn around to find out.  Gus slid the key for the lock home and twisted, shoving the door open with unnecessary force.

Vaun, of course, followed him in, and gently shut the door behind himself.  Gus stalked over to the sink, irrationally pissed off at the lack of emotion from Vaun, because what the fuck does he have to be emotional about?  He ripped the cupboard door open and snatched a glass, then held it under the tap before the water had a chance to get cold.  He took a huge gulp, swallowed wrong, and the coughing that followed made it feel like something inside of him was about to become dislodged.

When the coughing subsided, Vaun was much closer than he had been a few moments ago.  Still partially hunched over, Gus looked up at the centuries-old hunter, and felt like an idiot under his scrutiny.

Vaun was silent for a full minute before taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out over the flow of his words.

“You’re the last human on Earth I would ever choose to ‘babysit.” he said with solemn indifference.  Vaun’s shoulders were turned away from Gus and he wasn’t even looking at him.  Vaun was facing the wall, far too interested in the cabinet fixtures, his body language relaxed and calm, the only thing betraying his current state being the heightened frequency of clicking coming from his stinger.

Now that.., that pissed Gus off.  If he didn’t fucking care, why was he here?  Why did he follow him up here, into his place, why did he stop the fucking elevator at the last second and stare at him the entire ride up here?  Why was he up here…

“Why you up here wasting your time on a fuckin’ kid, then?” Gus finished the thought aloud.  “I’m not one of you… You said that yourself, so why the fuck do you care?”  The acidity of his words was surprising, even to him, but whatever this weird tension was, it had to be addressed.

Vaun surprised him, and said the last thing he expected: “You’re wounded.  I can smell it,” he said.  The clicking of his stinger was rhythmic and his voice was strained.  Gus registered the fact that Vaun still wouldn’t look at him, and for a reason Gus wasn’t willing to confront, it pissed him off.

Gus unzipped his jacket and threw it to the floor.  He pulled his shirt over his head as violently as he could without further aggravating his wound, and stood at his full height, moving into Vaun’s space and forcing him to look Gus in the eye.  Gus could feel the blood seeping from the wound across his chest, but at the moment, didn’t really give a shit.

Not bothering to even attempt to control his aggression, Gus got almost nose to nose with Vaun and issued a challenge that he wasn’t entirely sure Vaun would be able to refuse.

“What’s the matter?  You hungry, motherfucker?” he hissed


	3. If He Wanted To

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vaun knows Gus is injured, and he has a few other concerns, as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yuia was the name of an Egyptian priest during the 18th dynasty. I know there is never any mention of these 3 ancients going through Egypt, but I just didn't want to use another Latin name.

Vaun surprised him, and said the last thing he expected: “You’re wounded.  I can smell it,” he said.  The clicking of his stinger was rhythmic and his voice was strained.  Gus registered the fact that Vaun still wouldn’t look at him, and for a reason Gus wasn’t willing to confront, it pissed him off.

Gus unzipped his jacket and threw it to the floor.  He pulled his shirt over his head as violently as he could without further aggravating his wound, and stood at his full height, moving into Vaun’s space and forcing him to look Gus in the eye.  Gus could feel the blood seeping from the wound across his chest, but at the moment, didn’t really give a shit.

Not bothering to even attempt to control his aggression, Gus got almost nose to nose with Vaun and issued a challenge that he wasn’t entirely sure Vaun would be able to refuse.

“What’s the matter?  You hungry, motherfucker?” he hissed.

 -----------------------------------

 

Gus had seen Vaun move before, but it still surprised him when he was suddenly slammed against the far wall, Vaun’s fingers digging into his arms and his body so close the heat was suffocating.  Gus could feel the trembling in Vaun’s muscular form and he relished the thought that Vaun was effected at all, much less to the level Gus was.

“Yes,” Vaun growled, stinger purring and clicking, his breath hot in Gus’s ear.  Gus tried to control the shiver that ran down his back, but he knew Vaun felt it anyway.

Gus closed his eyes, and let his head fall back involuntarily as he sucked in a breath.  Maybe Vaun would think it was from the impact, but Gus knew the thundering in his chest was probably almost deafening to Vaun’s sensitive hearing and that thought made the skin below his belt tight.

 _If he wanted to…_ the threads of his mind ran away from him and the image that popped up only made his pulse race faster.  Gus waited; waited for the distinct sound of muscles stretching to allow the release of a stinger; waited for cold steel to force its way through his body; waited for burning lips against his own; waited for anything, really.

Vaun released him abruptly and took a large step backwards, out of Gus’s space.  Vaun’s entire body moved in tandem with the rhythm of his breathing, and upon opening his eyes, Gus peripherally noticed Vaun’s hands were shaking.

“If I wanted to..." he said with a dark chuckle.  "Yes, if I wanted to, Gus.  But I can control myself,” Vaun said, as Gus watched him steady himself.  “The Ancients would not be pleased if their new Sun Hunter were to become the newest member of the nest.”

Gus was momentarily stunned by his words, but the disbelief quickly gave way to more anger. 

His blood boiling, Gus spit, “That’s what it is, huh?  _Pendejo_ needs to babysit Mom and Dad’s new toy, right?  Q was fucking right, I’m just the family pet,” Vaun’s eyes snapped to attention and he released a low growl in response to his words.  Gus moved into Vaun’s space again, squaring his shoulders and trying to convey an air of intimidation.  He was nearly chest to chest with Vaun, but he kept moving, forcing Vaun to take another step backwards.

For a tense moment, they stood inches apart, invading each other’s space and breathing each other’s air.  Vaun was finally looking him in the eye and Gus wasn’t just going to let the opportunity pass.  He locked his gaze with Vaun’s and waited for him to contest his accusation, the muscles in his jaw jumping as he held back the words trying to force their way out.  He’d pushed Vaun enough for the moment.

Vaun placed his hands against Gus’s skin on either side of his wound and pressed firmly to move him back, forcing him to vacate his space.  Vaun sucked in a deep breath and let it out, ending on a tired sigh.

“You’re not a pet, Gus,” Vaun said, resigned.  “You’re no more a pet than Quinlan is, but that doesn’t make him right.”

This was the last response Gus was expecting.  His jaw dropped and it took him a moment to process Vaun’s statement before he snapped his teeth together again.  Vaun’s words caught him off guard and he took a step back.

“Sit down.” The command in Vaun’s voice did little to slow Gus’s racing heart, but he pulled a chair out from the pathetic Formica table and dropped his weight into it, straining to hide a grimace as the movement jostled his wound.

Without a word, Vaun turned toward the hallway leading to the bathroom, knowing damn well there was a first aid kit in one of the vanity drawers because he might have been the one to put it there.  Their Sun Hunters were tough, but they were still human, and the kit was stocked with less traditional items than one would normally find inside.  After a few moments, he reemerged from the dark hallway, the white box in his hands.  Vaun flipped the light switch on the wall, and placed the kit gently on the table as he pulled out his own chair, swinging it around so that it faced Gus.  He stalked toward the sink, tension in every muscle, and refilled the glass Gus had been drinking from.  As Vaun sat down in the chair, he set the glass of water to rest on the other side of the first aid kit.

Silently, Vaun set about collecting the supplies he’d need to dress Gus’s wound, lining up several stacks of gauze and tape in a neat line on the tabletop.  He snatched a look at Gus and pulled his UV flashlight from the breast pocket of his vest.  He switched it on and pointed it at the still-seeping wound on Gus’s chest.

“It was shrapnel, not a stinger,” Gus started, but Vaun gently pushed his shoulder backwards to expose the wound fully to the blue light.  Gus hissed out a breath as Vaun took the fingers of his right and hand and as gently as possible separated the edges, allowing more blood to drip.  The wound was deep, maybe two inches, and about four inches long.  Just looking at it made Gus’s body throb.

They both held in a breath as they examined the wound under the light, searching for the movement of worms inside.  Gus preferred to watch Vaun’s reaction rather than see the squirming under his skin firsthand, and after what felt like an eternity but was surely no more than a solid minute, Vaun nodded his head, satisfied, and switched the flashlight off.

Gus leaned back, letting the overhead light provide illumination as Vaun retrieved a suture kit from the box.  They were both silent as Vaun opened the package and patiently threaded the needle.  A searing hot hand pressed against Gus’s shoulder made him lean back in the chair, the overhead light illuminating his wound so Vaun could focus on his work.  Gus sucked in a harsh breath when the needle pierced his skin the first time, but after that, he was silent.

Vaun’s hands were warm and his fingers skated over the skin of Gus’s chest as he worked.  Gus counted four stitches before Vaun spoke, his voice thick and words unsure for the first time since Gus had met him:

“Quinlan isn’t—,“ he began, and paused to collect his words as Gus watched, eyebrow raised and a scathing retort at the ready.

“I argued when they sent me for you, you know,” he said, an almost inaudible chuckle coating the underside of his words.  “I didn’t think it was worth it to drag another human into this mess.”  Vaun’s eyes darted to Gus’s face and back down again, immediately focusing on the task at hand.

As Gus opened his mouth, snarky comment at the ready, but was surprised to silence when Vaun continued.

“It was our mess; They gave Him the rope to hang us with, we should take care of Him.  Why should you be dragged into this when your presence would surely only be a ping on the radar of this centuries-long war?  What good could possibly come from the complications inherent with recruiting a human, other than your immediate knowledge of the battleground?  The emotionality and physical limitations of humans have only ever been a hindrance in the past.”  Vaun let the words flow out over his ministrations on the wound on Gus’s chest, his focus never wavering.  The stings of the needle entering his skin, of the nylon thread being pulled taught, all of it was secondary to the burning shame Gus could feel curling around his core and making his face burn.

Another two sutures were completed before Vaun continued: “You’re not a child, Gus.  You’re probably the strongest Sun Hunter we’ve had since the appearance of The Master in the Old World, long before this place.  None of the others had quite the same… motivation as you.  They weren’t as hard to… control, I guess.”  Vaun tilted his head slightly up to look at Gus, an almost indiscernible smirk playing around the corners of his mouth.

Gus’s jaw dropped in disbelief at Vaun’s words.  The most he’d expected was a solid ass-chewing, or maybe a loud argument, but this… Gus held his breath waiting for Vaun to continue, the throbbing in his chest completely forgotten at the moment.

“Yeah well, they say Mexican isn’t too easy on the stomach,” Gus quipped, a crooked smile establishing itself across his face.

“Tonight didn’t go according to plan.  The Master was waiting, and none of us knew it.  Not even Quinlan.  If we’d known….” Vaun’s words trailed off as he finished off the last suture and turned to retrieve the antibiotic ointment from the first aid kit.

Gus suppressed a shiver at the searing hot contact of Vaun’s fingers on his chest as he smeared ointment across the sutures.  Vaun twisted momentarily and recentered himself on Gus with a large bandage in his hands.  He pressed it against Gus’s chest and gently pressed the edges of the bandage against the skin surround Gus’s wound, a process that took an abnormally long amount of time to Gus.

“I recruited you.  That makes it my job to protect you, and tonight, I failed.  If not for Yuia, that seer would have…” Vaun shook his head to clear the cobwebs of the thought away, and took a steadying breath.  “Yuia’s sacrifice was worth it.” Vaun whispered after a moment.

As his thumbs made their final swipe around the edges of the bandage, Vaun chanced a glance up at Gus.  The intensity of Gus’s stare caused Vaun to pause, his fingers barely brushing the skin of Gus’s chest, their warmth radiating through to Gus’s core.

Gus looked at him silently for a moment before slowly leaning forward to close the distance between them, his mouth finally making contact with the strong muscles of Vaun’s lips.  The kiss was chaste, not at all like the last one they shared.  Vaun’s lips were muscular, but soft and warm at the same time.  Gus pressed his lips against Vaun’s, waiting for him to return the action, dying a little inside when Vaun again brought his hands up to Gus’s shoulders, gently pushing him away.

Gus saw Vaun open his mouth to speak, waited for him to crush him with his words, but no sound came out save the purring and gentle clicks of Vaun’s stinger.  Gus shivered as Vaun raised his left hand to his neck, his grip gentle but unyielding.

To Gus, it felt the same as when he was waiting for the floor to come out beneath him during the raid; when he felt the explosions and braced himself for the structure beneath him to give way and he would be falling with nothing beneath to catch him.  For the second time that night, Gus wondered if this was maybe the end of him, after all.

They stared at each other, breathing deeply but not rapidly, each waiting for the other’s reaction.  Without warning, the hand on the back of Gus’s neck tightened its grip and he was pulled forward insistently, his lips colliding with the heat of Vaun’s mouth.

Vaun rarely used his telepathy on Gus, but the sheer feeling he poured into that kiss was enough to make Gus’s chest ache, anyway.  Gus brought a hand up around the back of Vaun’s neck and pulled and Vaun followed to where Gus led him.  Gus shivered at the feeling of Vaun’s hands sliding up the bare skin of his ribs, suppressing a groan at the heat of Vaun’s tongue invading his mouth, making his saliva run and his heartbeat tick up another notch.

Vaun’s arms wrapped around Gus’s back and pulled him forward on his chair until just the edge of his ass was keeping him from falling to the floor.  Vaun hooked a hand under Gus’s right leg and hiked it up over his knee, pulling Gus onto his lap at the same time.  Gus slid his had around along the edge of Vaun’s jaw, tracing the angle of the bone there with his fingertips, relishing the heat of the contact.

Vaun was eager, his tongue sliding through Gus’s lips, heating his mouth as he slid his hands up around Gus’s back, pulling him close.  Vaun’s scent filled Gus’s nostrils, warm and heady, and faintly alkaline like his saliva.

Gus curled into the heat; it was the only nice thing he’d felt all day.  He’d forgotten how it felt to be wanted (if that’s what this was), and he wasn’t about to deprive himself of the feeling.  Vaun kissed him with barely concealed desperation, as if Gus were the last good thing he had to hold on to.  Vaun pulled him impossibly closer, rolling his hips up and Gus damn near came in his pants from the friction as he breathed a curse into the superheated air.

Vaun moved his mouth down his jaw toward his neck and Gus ground himself down into Vaun’s lap, and Gus was suddenly acutely aware of the lack of an erection beneath his ass.  Gus quickly slowed the pace of their kissing, leaving off with a full press of his lips against Vaun’s mouth. He pulled his mouth away and rested his forehead against Vaun’s, licking his lips and trying to reign himself in.

Gus took several slow steadying breaths before sitting up straight and maneuvering himself back onto his own chair, letting his legs relax when he was seated, careful of his absolutely throbbing erection.  Despite being able to physically feel the intensity of Vaun’s stare, despite the tempo of his own desperate breaths, Gus couldn’t let himself continue.

“What the fuck are we doing, Vaun?” he asked, not because he wanted it to stop, but because he wanted it to continue, to go further.  Gus felt exposed beneath the heat of Vaun’s stare, to an intensity he’d never felt before, but he wasn’t about to go all in when he wasn’t even sure of the stakes yet.

After a few moments of palpable tension filled with the sound of impossibly deep breaths coming from each of them, Vaun swallowed audibly, and without a word, he stood and stalked across the room.  Gus didn’t turn to follow his movements, but he heard the door open and slam shut behind him.

Despite the urge to send a sweeping arm across the table and send the first aid kit flying across the room, Gus just bowed his head and pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, frustration coursing through him.  He rocked back and forth once, twice, and suddenly yanked his hands away and let out a sound of frustration he was sure Vaun heard from the hallway, but Gus found that in the moment, he couldn’t care less.


	4. The Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone's past comes back to haunt them...

He was walking down the hallway on the 10th floor of a building in a housing development in Harlem.  The smell of stale cigarettes, fried food, and sour liquor permeated the building and if that smell had a color, it would be the sick yellow of the carpet under his feet, stretching down the length of the corridor and carrying the smell with it.  The hallway was seemingly endless and the bulbs in the sconces were all dark save for three on the left side and five on the right, one of which flickered constantly, making his head ache.  He registered the lack of any sound around him; no air conditioners, no traffic.  It was like being underwater.  He opened his mouth to call out around him, felt the vibrations of the words in his chest, but absolutely no sound came out.

He continued down the hall, stopping to read the numbers on the doors he passed.  The plaques seemed almost fluid, the numbers changing but somehow constant at the same time, with no discernable order or uniform appearance.  Some of the doors had tiny plastic squares with white numbers saying he was looking at 3C and 1021 at the same time, some had peepholes the size of car tires, and others had enormous iron faces on them; gargoyles, animals, and people whose faces were twisted in grimaces of pain, and all with forked stingers coming from their throats to wrap around in a circle below their chins.

He walked on toward the next door, feeling the mute anxiety of waiting for something without knowing what it is.  When he reached the door, he stopped to look at it.  The face was vaguely familiar this time.  It was hard to make it out through the horrified expression, but the thought he recognized something in the jawline, or maybe the eyes.  It came to him.  The cellmate he got three months in, shaking in his skin and crying himself to sleep every night.  It was pitiful.  He remembered this cellmate sharing his space for only a short while until the Aryans made a salad bowl out of his fucking skull, telling him that he didn’t hear anything, didn’t hear _nothing, you fuckin wetback,_ even though he could most definitely hear the squelching of blood and tissue as they removed the weapon from the poor guy _._ He dismissed the memory, turned away and continued on.

The next door on his right showed a face he knew almost immediately.  It was Crispin, but not as he’d last seen him.  The face before him was younger, and fuller, and instead of a grimace, there was a smile, mischievous at the corners and he knew instinctively that this was Crispin the day they boosted a car to drive out to the fair in Syracuse.  As he watched, the image began to soften and lose its edges, almost melting into the drug addicted mess that was living on his _madre’s_ couch when he got out.  The figure’s neck began to change, too, spreading to allow the extension of a stinger, small and slender at first, then gaining girth as it lengthened and curled into a circle.

He examined this with the same indifference as the others, as if his extremely low expectations for a situation had been met without an ounce of overreaching.  Which, in the case of his brother’s life trajectory, was maddeningly apt.

Still, there was no sound.  He continued.

He turned his head to look at the next doorknocker.  This one was the kind, soft face of his _madre,_ her expression warm and comforting, and proud.  Proud of her Augustine, her _nino_. He saw the image begin to lose its edges, and tried to turn away, he didn't want to watch, but his neck refused his orders and his gaze remained locked on the changing face before him.  Now she was crying, the tears standing out against the background of her skin, the corners of her mouth drawn down in sorrow; she was hurting, and the emotion was physical in him, bleeding in around the edges and making his body heavy.  Hurting because of him, he knew.  Her face changed again, the edges of her pupils moving impossibly outward until they consumed the entire surface of her eyes.  He watched in horror, helpless to turn away, as her neck separated and her stinger crept its way out, wormlike and thickening as it lengthened.  He fought a scream as the stinger finished its curl and came to rest below her chin, inviting him to knock and _find out what's behind Door Number 3, Johnny!!_

Finally, his legs obeyed and moved him onward.

He ran.  He ran down the hall, away from these horrors, these failures of his; ran for what felt like hours.  Just as he felt his speed building and the weight on his chest lifting, he found himself locked into positon in front of the next door.  Glancing to his right, he saw that he had only apparently traveled the 15 feet between this door and the last, despite the feeling of time passing.

It was liquid now, too.

His head tilted back to center and upwards without him commanding it, and despair filled him as he realized he couldn’t rip his gaze from the image before him no matter how his mind screamed for it.  It hurt him to look; he could feel the pressure on his chest, pressing into him uniformly, crushing him, as the door looked back at him, into him, with the warm brown eyes of his best childhood friend, his ally, his _querido._   The look on Felix’s face was the same one that he’d seen on not nearly enough lazy Sunday mornings, relaxed, puffy with sleep, and smiling at him like he was the only one in the world.  Then it fluidly changed to become the face he’d seen staring back at him when he’d first told Felix that he needed him, that he loved him.  Felix’s mouth was open slightly, eyebrows raised in surprise, but the eyes soft, and he felt himself remembering.  Remembering how that surprised look had softened and slipped into something else, something more pure and on the edge of a smile, and how Felix had said it back to him before they’d slowly made love with the windows open and the sound of traffic accompanying their act.

The sweet essence of the memory was wiped out with the intrusion of the doorknocker changing again.  This time, the pupils consumed the eyes as they did on his _madre’s_ door, the neck opened wide, but the stinger only hung limply beneath.  There was a bullet hole in Felix’s forehead, and three tiny worms squirming on his forehead beneath it.  The eyes were accusing, and he knew in that moment that there was a little bit of Felix left when he pulled the trigger, knew that he’d killed what little there was of him left just to save his own pathetic skin.

He turned and fled.

The hallway wasn’t endless, after all.  As he ran, he could see the far wall approaching.  It was different than the rest of the hallway, more illuminated.  Nearing the wall, he saw that it was actually another door.  He came to a stop in front of it, his chest constricting with anxiety.

This one was different.  The door itself was black rather than brown like the others, seemingly with its own light radiating from it.  The face displayed was different, too.  This time molded in silver, shining brilliantly, it made his heart slow and his body calm.  The exaggerated curve of the mouth beneath the razor sharp cheekbones was natural, and the eyes had their own haunting expression.  There were no eyebrows, wrinkles, or imperfections.  The neck was folded open, but the stinger did not protrude.  He stood and studied the features, noticing the glint of the light from Vaun’s brow, calm spreading through him, warming him. He felt safe here.  He felt _worthy_ under that gaze.  Beneath Vaun’s neck, the Sun Hunter symbol stood out, glowing red and strong against the black door.  He thought could stand in front of this door forever; there was a sense of relief there, of knowing that he didn’t have to run anymore: now he could hunt.

A weight at his side caused him to look down and see an ax resting against his leg, firm and secure.  He grasped it with his right hand and hefted it up.  It felt good; it felt right in his hand.  He smiled and thought to show it to doorknocker Vaun, but when he looked up, his heart went cold.

Vaun’s face was twisted into something grotesque and his instead of looping around beneath his chin, his stinger was pointed outwards, still close to his neck but tensing, readying for the attack.  He barely dodged in time as the stinger shot outward, but just as it retracted, it shot out again, this time brushing his cheek.  He watched, frozen, as two hands materialized in the door, out of the door, bracing on the sides with the obvious intent to launch an attack.

 _No_ , he thought—begged, really.  _No, not this- I can’t.  No, please. Pleasepleasepleasepleaseno_ He was praying now, to whatever deity might be left, because he’d abandoned his God long ago.

Apparently, no one was listening.

With a silent cry of rage, he took a step back and planted his feet, letting the weight of the ax fall and used its momentum to swing it up and around, throwing his might into the downswing, lodging it in Vaun’s forehead, white blood and worms splattering the walls, the ceiling, all over his body.

A scream erupted from his chest, tearing out through his vocal cords, dragging his soul along with it, deafening in the void of the hallway.  He let the scream ride for an eternity, feeling empty and nothingness as it tapered off.  He fell to his knees and stared at the ruin of Vaun’s face before him, peripherally registering the squirming and wriggling of worms on his neck, his hands, but not caring because the black hole forming in his chest was all-consuming.

He felt a stinging on the back of his left hand and looked down, numbly watching the worm burrow its way beneath the skin there.  He watched it bulge under the surface as it worked its way up his arm, through the crook of his elbow and around his shoulder.  It reached the center of his chest, but he only moved to action when he felt it moving deeper, through the muscles and tissues of his chest toward his heart.  He felt the pressure building, terror suffocating him.  He couldn’t draw in a breath, couldn’t form a coherent thought, but could feel every millimeter of progress the worm was making.  He felt it tearing and digging and _eating_ its way through the muscles around his sternum, felt it moving through the fluid in his pleural cavity.  His chest ached with the effort of trying to suck in air, any air, but he was underwater again.  The wriggling in his chest continued and moved deeper; he felt it reaching his heart, felt it pierce the muscle there—

Gus jerked awake in bed, at the remnants of a scream ripping itself from his throat.  His chest and throat ached, as if he’d just run a marathon, the sheets were plastered with sweat against his body, and he was not at all surprised to feel wetness on his face.  He whipped his head from side to side, taking in his surroundings and checking for any phantom doorknockers, listening and hearing just to be sure he could.  Finally registering that he was safe, in his own apartment in the Base, door triple locked and a gun beneath his pillow, he let the emotional fallout of his nightmare take over.  He covered his eyes and let the tears come.  The ache in his chest from his sobbing was so familiar, he realized that he’d probably been crying or screaming in his sleep.  He let it out, purged the anxiety and sorrow from his core, his body covered in a thick sheen of sweat.

As his breathing slowed and his tears tapered off, he wiped his eyes and reached to his nightstand for the bottle of water he kept there.  He twisted off the cap and drank deeply, draining the bottle in a single go.  He threw it across the room and glanced at his alarm clock.

_10:00 a.m._

He ripped the sheets back and got up, knowing that any further rest was out of the question. Dreary gray sunlight was leaking in through the curtains and puddling on the floor of Gus’s bedroom, and he absolutely did not consciously avoid stepping in them as he snatched the towel off the hook on his door and headed to the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the stupid summary, but I didn't want to ruin the surprise!! I wrote this chapter fueled by a combination of about 12 light beers and two solid weeks of super-vivid dreams caused by quitting smoking weed.  
> I haven't really gotten much done on Chapter 5 or anything beyond, so I can't promise when the next chapters will be posted. This story isn't dead yet, I promise!!!  
> Thank you all for the lovely comments, you make it all worth it!!


End file.
